


call me sweetpea, or rosebud, or yours

by Lianta_chan



Series: Sakuatsu Angst Week 2021 [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: "Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in the next life.", Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gardener Sakusa, Kinda, M/M, Mutual Pining, Roses, Sakuatsu Angst Week 2021 Day 3, Valentine's Day, White Day, atsumu is so stupid i love him, clingy omiomi, pouty atsumu agenda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 23:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30029580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lianta_chan/pseuds/Lianta_chan
Summary: “Ma likes orchids more but oba-chan loves roses,” Atsumu proclaimed with a matter-of-fact finger wag. “What flowers do you like, Omi-Omi?”Gazing at Atsumu standing by a rose bush, his puffy cheeks matching the crimson blossoms, Kiyoomi flushed and mumbled, “I like roses too.”or Kiyoomi is childhood friends with the Miya twins, spending their adolescence playing in their grandmother's rose garden. As they grow older, their grandmother gets Atsumu and Osamu to give away roses as White Day gifts, but Kiyoomi wishes Atsumu would only give roses to him.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Original Female Character(s), Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Series: Sakuatsu Angst Week 2021 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2209050
Comments: 8
Kudos: 70





	call me sweetpea, or rosebud, or yours

**Author's Note:**

> wooo back with another sakuatsu fic gotta help bring it up to top five haikyuu ships on ao3 right??? i'm actually very pleased with this one i haven't written a fic not set in canonverse for a long long time so this was really fun!! ideally, i would've liked to make it longer but time did not permit so please take it from my hands as it is. also no this was totally not me projecting my feelings for my childhood friend on sakuatsu why would you think that :)))

Call him a romantic, but Kiyoomi’s favorite flowers were red roses. The elderly lady living next door to him grew the loveliest roses and would always gift a bouquet to his family, insisting that they were too beautiful to keep to herself. Kiyoomi would watch as his mother placed the flowers inside a tall glass vase and set them as a centerpiece on their dinner table. He leaned in and sniffed a petal, only to see an ant crawling across one of the velvety petals. He couldn’t back away fast enough. 

That horrific experience should’ve been enough to solidify a lifelong distaste for flowers. Little did he know that it would take one encounter for a blossom of his own to bloom inside his heart. 

* * *

Kiyoomi was helping his mother bring groceries inside when he spotted two clones poking an anthill with a stick. Repelled by the unfamiliar faces, his stubby hands hugged a gallon-sized carton of milk closer to his chest as he rushed towards his front door. 

One of the boys paused their mischief to look up at him, studying him like he was an ant beneath a glass shard telescope. The last thing he heard from them was a frantic yelp announcing shoe-invading ants and a mocking guffaw before he shut the door. 

That evening, Kiyoomi peeked through his bedroom window to see the mysterious pair waving goodbye to his neighbor before walking back home with who he assumed was their mother. The boy on the right (was it the same one as before? Kiyoomi wasn’t sure) looked over his shoulder and, as though he was a sunflower and Kiyoomi the sun, he made direct eye contact with Kiyoomi and beamed. Startled, Kiyoomi rammed the curtains shut and raced to the other side of the room almost faster than the rate of his heartbeat.

He had heard of twins having telepathic powers, but he didn’t know they had eyes on the back of their heads too. Shuddering, Kiyoomi came to one indisputable conclusion: do not interact with the neighbor’s twin grandsons ever if he valued his life.

It turned out that even as a seven-year-old, he had a death wish. However, Kiyoomi couldn’t bear all the blame when it was Atsumu that approached him first with cheeks as red as his grandmother’s beloved roses.

Kiyoomi had been sitting in the living room with his older sister, reading a book as she flipped through channels on the t.v. At the sound of the doorbell chiming, Kiyoomi’s sister dragged her feet towards the door, only to come back in the living room and tell Kiyoomi that their guest was here for him. Kiyoomi raised his eyebrow in suspicion only to receive an aloof shrug. 

When Kiyoomi answered the door, he was greeted by that toothy grin—this time up close. Kiyoomi was too young to disguise his horror. Second to his dread was the wary question of, _where’s the other one?_

“Hey, my name’s Miya Atsumu! I saw you last time me and Samu were over at oba-chan’s, but I didn’t get to greet you, so here I am. What’s your name?”

“What are you doing here?” Kiyoomi asked, glaring at him in hopes his eyes would turn into lasers and vaporize him.

Atsumu blinked, not expecting the closed-off response. “Well, I’m here to visit my oba-chan again so I thought that this time, we could play together!”

Kiyoomi turned towards his sister sitting on the couch, hoping she’d sense his helplessness and save him. She mercilessly ignored him, leaving Kiyoomi to fend for himself.

Left with no other option, he mumbled, “Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

As if he could get any more blinding, Atsumu’s face lit up as he exclaimed, “Can I call you Omi-Omi then?”

Kiyoomi was taken off guard. Nobody outside his family called him by his first name, let alone by an odd nickname. He was surprised to find that he didn’t hate it. “Okay. Can I call you Atsumu then?”

“Of course! Can we go play now?” Atsumu asked, vibrating with anticipation.

“I have to ask my parents first.”

Atsumu nodded in rapid succession. Not wanting to keep Atsumu waiting for too long, Kiyoomi rushed over to his mom’s home office to get her permission. Once he received a dismissive approval, Kiyoomi took large strides towards the door and found Atsumu jogging in place to expend his excess energy. 

All Atsumu’s anxiousness faded the moment Kiyoomi gave him a shy thumbs up and slipped on his shoes. 

He was soon introduced to Atsumu’s brother Osamu, who greeted him with a curt nod before taking another bite of their grandmother’s handmade onigiri. 

“Osamu, shouldn’t you offer our guest something to eat too?” Their grandmother chided.

“Eh, but it’s Tsumu’s guest. Why do _I_ have to do it?” Osamu grumbled, voice muffled by his rice-filled cheeks.

Atsumu smacked the back of Osamu’s head before turning to Kiyoomi. “Ignore him. You want an onigiri, Omi-Omi?”

“What’s the filling?” Kiyoomi asked, eying the onigiri like they were poisoned despite the fact that Osamu was chomping down on them without a second thought.

“These are salmon, these are tuna, and these are umeboshi,” The Miyas’ grandmother pointed out with a gentle smile.

Instantly, Kiyoomi’s eyes lit up as he lunged for the umeboshi onigiri. The onigiri did not disappoint and he soon grabbed a second. 

After the three of them finished their onigiri, Atsumu led Kiyoomi into his grandmother’s illustrious rose garden. 

With a prideful smirk, Atsumu gave Kiyoomi a tour of the garden. Kiyoomi could tell he was reciting his grandmother’s words verbatim, but he listened with rapt attention anyway. 

“Ma likes orchids more but oba-chan _loves_ roses,” Atsumu proclaimed with a matter-of-fact finger wag. “What flowers do you like, Omi-Omi?”

Gazing at Atsumu standing by a rose bush, his puffy cheeks matching the crimson blossoms, Kiyoomi flushed and mumbled, “I like roses too.”

“Oh really?” Atsumu then proceeded to snap off a rose from the bush and hand it to Kiyoomi. “For you!”

Flattered, Kiyoomi reached out to take the offered flower before realizing the rose’s thorn had punctured Atsumu’s palm.

Atsumu blinked, looked down at the streak of blood staining his palm, and promptly burst into tears.

“Omi-Omi, it hurts!” Atsumu wailed.

Kiyoomi’s hands hovered over Atsumu’s, wanting to comfort him but not wanting to get blood on his hands too. “Wait here, I’ll call your oba-chan.”

That only made Atsumu cry harder, despairing at the thought of being left alone with a thorn stuck in his palm.

Soon enough, Osamu and their grandmother came running over at the sound of Atsumu’s distress. As expected, Osamu burst into laughter at the sight of Atsumu’s tear-stained face while his grandma gasped in shock.

“I-I’m sorry, oba-chan! I’ll never do it again, I promise!” Atsumu sobbed.

“Hush, Atsumu. I’m not sad about the flowers. I’m just upset that you hurt yourself in the process. You have to be more careful, okay?” Atsumu nodded frantically, rubbing away his tears. “Alright dear, let me take the rose. I’ll help remove the thorns.”

“And then I can give it to Omi?” His teary eyes shimmered, as if he didn’t already resemble a pleading puppy. 

His grandmother blinked, looking over at Kiyoomi who was off to the side fiddling with his fingers. She smiled. “Of course.”

It was only after Atsumu’s hands were bandaged and blood-free that Kiyoomi intertwined his stubby fingers with Atsumu’s in one hand and a dethorned rose in the other.

That night, Kiyoomi took one of his mother’s vases and brought it to his room. He placed the single red rose inside with the solemnity of a praying temple-goer clenching an incense stick.

Even as the flower withered, Kiyoomi kept every single fallen petal.

* * *

Atsumu and Osamu visited their grandma every weekend. After that first encounter, however, Kiyoomi became the other face they’d come to see. They dragged out lethargic mornings toiling over algebra homework. In the afternoon, they rejuvenated beneath the afternoon sun, playing hide-and-seek in the garden just big enough for the youthful trio. Some days, Kiyoomi was fortunate enough to eat more of the Miyas’ grandmother’s cooking. There was even a spot reserved for him at the dinner table next to Atsumu. Other nights, they had sleepovers where the three of them would compete to stay up the longest only for all of them to pass out before midnight. 

“Omi,” Atsumu had whispered one night, his voice already drifting off into slumber. “Pinch me if I fall asleep. I need to...need to draw a moustache on Samu’s face.”

“I can hear you, stupid,” Samu grumbled, his voice muffled beneath his makeshift fortress of blankets.

Kiyoomi pulled up his and Atsumu’s blanket up to his chin, settling in for the night. “No promises.”

Atsumu thrashed underneath his blanket, unleashing a disgruntled whine. “Come on, it’s too early for you guys to go to sleep! We have to tell each other ghost stories and stuff!”

“Says the one who’s gonna fall asleep first,” Osamu grunted, punctuated by a kick to Atsumu’s shin.

Atsumu yelped, “Forget it, I’ll just draw on your face _now_ , you scrub!”

Rubbing his eyes, Kiyoomi sat up and mechanically tugged the back of Atsumu’s shirt. “No fighting. Go to sleep.”

“Fine Omi, but you better not steal all the blankets,” Atsumu pouted before joining Kiyoomi beneath the covers. 

Even though he said that, there was never anything to worry about when the two of them always woke up the next morning with their limbs knotted together. Squeezing his eyes shut for a few minutes longer, Kiyoomi clung to Atsumu and wished to never let go.

* * *

A month before they entered middle school, Kiyoomi peered out his bedroom curtain, waiting for Atsumu to arrive at his doorstep. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of a moving truck stopping in front of Atsumu’s grandmother’s house. Kiyoomi’s eyes widened when he saw Atsumu tucked in between the cardboard boxes in the back of the truck, the boy wearing a gleeful smile.

Kiyoomi raced downstairs and out the door, his breathless panting a drastic contrast to Atsumu’s giddy chuckle as he crawled out of the truck.

He had many questions, but first he snapped, “It’s not safe to sit inside the storage compartment of the truck.” 

“Don’t worry, Osamu was with me too!” Right on cue, Osamu’s head peaked out from behind one of the boxes. 

Kiyoomi kneaded his forehead. “Why am I the only one here with a brain?”

“Well, this might not come as good news to you then, ‘cause we’re gonna be here for awhile now!” Atsumu exclaimed as he gestured behind him at his grandmother’s house.

Kiyoomi shot a wary glance towards Osamu, silently demanding an explanation.

“Did this scrub not tell you yet? We’re moving in to live with oba-chan.”

“Yeah, so help us carry the boxes inside!” Atsumu said, already waddling towards the door whilst balancing three large boxes on top of each other. 

Begrudgingly, Kiyoomi obliged, helping the twins arrange their belongings in the guest room-turned-bedroom. 

As Kiyoomi busied himself organizing a bookshelf, Atsumu stated, “Our parents got divorced.” 

Kiyoomi wiped down one of Atsumu’s plastic trophies. “Are you sad about it?”

Atsumu shrugged. “Not really. They said they’re both happier now. ‘Sides, it means we get to see each other more often. Samu and I can go to the same middle school as you now too!”

Kiyoomi tried to wrap his head around the idea of having friends at school. Middle school didn’t sound so bad if it meant Atsumu would be there with him.

The three of them emerged from their rose garden to walk through the school gate lined with fluttering cherry blossoms.

Unsurprisingly, the Miya twins garnered a loathsome amount of attention. All Kiyoomi’s classmates already knew each other after spending years of elementary school together, so seeing two new faces, identical or not, was exhilarating to them. Atsumu’s confident charisma was irresistible while those impartial to it found themselves swooning over Osamu’s cool but friendly (well, friendlier) demeanor. If their popularity wasn’t already evident, Valentine’s Day made it undeniable. Kiyoomi didn’t receive any chocolates, not after spending years glaring at any girls who dared. However, if Kiyoomi thought that he’d be free from the Valentine’s Day festivities, he was wrong. 

All day, Atsumu would get pulled aside by a girl from their class, or from the class down the hall, or from the soccer club. It went on and on and on until Kiyoomi had to help carry Atsumu’s chocolates in a plastic take-out bag. 

As if things couldn’t get worse, there was the inevitable White Day catastrophe. At their grandmother’s insistence, Atsumu and Osamu came to school every White Day carrying bouquets of roses for all the girls that had given them chocolate. Their grandma refused to let her grandsons be anything less than gentlemen. Though, if they only kept up the civil act around her, she had no need to know.

The thing is, the night before White Day, their grandmother would shove a rose bouquet into Kiyoomi’s hands as well. 

“You may not be my grandson by blood, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let you get away with taking advantage of girls’ kindness,” She’d say as she thrust the roses into his arms and ushered him out the door before he could protest.

What she didn’t know was that each year, Kiyoomi would take the bouquet of roses and pluck the petals, reciting, _he loves me, he loves me not._ Then, he’d scoop up the petals off the floor and let them slip through his sore fingertips into a glass vase. He kept the new petals separate from that of the first rose Atsumu had gifted him. The shriveled petals were sealed inside an air-tight jar hidden in his desk drawer, in case of the rare occasion that the twins came over to his house and callously rummaged through his bedroom.

To the twins who _did_ give away their grandma’s roses, it brought them an off-the-charts spike in popularity. Despite being flocked by girls and boys alike every second of the day, however, Atsumu remained single.

“I’m not interested in any of those hags anyway. Wouldn’t even give any of them flowers if not for oba-chan,” Atsumu said as he walked home with Kiyoomi, waving his hand dismissively.

“Tell that to their face and you won’t have to worry about that anymore,” Kiyoomi snarked. 

“It’s not like I _try_ to hide that I’m an asshole. I’m just too hot for them to notice. Love is blind and all that crap,” Atsumu smirked in a way that should’ve made Kiyoomi want to punch him, and not with his lips. 

“Do you need a mirror?” Kiyoomi stared him dead in the eye, as if his pupils could reflect Atsumu as anything less than perfect. 

“Omi,” he whined, looping an arm over Kiyoomi’s shoulder. “You’re hurting my feelings.”

“I don’t remember ever saying I cared about your feelings,” Kiyoomi responded, shoving his hands in his pockets. _The day I care about your feelings is the day you say you love me back_ , Kiyoomi didn’t say. 

He did, however, allow himself a sigh of relief, knowing he could have Atsumu all to himself like this for a little while longer.

Kiyoomi’s one-sided torment only worsened when they entered high school. Kiyoomi would never admit it to anyone other than himself, but puberty had treated Atsumu and Osamu well. Atsumu, in particular. Osamu loved to joke around that Atsumu’s newly-dyed blonde hair looked like piss (as if he wasn’t the one that dyed Atsumu’s hair himself), Kiyoomi thought he resembled a sunflower. However, his cheeks would always be roses in his eyes, the very roses that Atsumu had stopped giving him roses once they had outgrown playing in gardens. But Kiyoomi was a fool, and like fools do, he wished to remain Atsumu’s sun. 

Of course, the universe had to hear Kiyoomi’s plea and respond with mocking cackles. 

* * *

Their first high school Valentine’s Day started off with little deviation. By then, Kiyoomi was prepared, bringing to school with him two gargantuan tote bags to carry Atsumu’s chocolates in. 

“Omi, you sure you don’t want any chocolates?” Atsumu said, offering one of his half-eaten chocolate bars in an outstretched hand. Kiyoomi had just rejected one of the few brave souls to approach him with handmade sweets, but his foul mood dissipated at the prospect of sharing chocolate with Atsumu. 

“You already bit into it. I’m not a heathen,” He grumbled. 

“You can have the other end of it then. You don’t got a problem with that, right?” Atsumu waved the chocolate in Kiyoomi’s face, as if seeing it up close would make it more tempting.

“Hmph. Fine,” Kiyoomi frowned to hide the nervous flutter of his heart.

“Say ahh!” Atsumu brought the clean side of the bar to Kiyoomi’s mouth. Kiyoomi gulped, then took a crisp bite of the store-bought chocolate. Kiyoomi wiped his mouth with his handkerchief, unaware of Atsumu’s adorable pout. “Not even gonna say thank you?”

“It’s not like you made it. It’s an obligatory chocolate bought from the convenience store, and even then, you didn’t buy it yourself.”

Atsumu’s cheeks puffed up even more as his pout deepended. “Still rude though! What would oba-chan say if she heard you?”

“Nothing. She adores me,” Kiyoomi smirked, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m her blood grandson! She loves me way more than you,” Atsumu retorted, shoving Kiyoomi with his shoulder.

Kiyoomi scoffed, “Well, I’m not the one who never puts their dishes in the sinks or, I don’t know, fights with their brother five times a day.”

“If you had to be with Samu 24/7, you’d want to punch him in the face all the time too!” Atsumu screeched.

“I don’t think that’ll be as much of a problem anymore.” Kiyoomi’s smile was laced with the same mischief so often found on Atsumu’s face. 

“Hah?”

Kiyoomi nodded in the direction of the doorway. There, Osamu’s scarlet face was met with the amused grin of their classmate Suna Rintaro. 

Atsumu let out a disbelieving gasp. “No way! Samu? Our Samu?!” Atsumu leaped out of his seat, stomping over to where Osamu was tripping over his words. “You sneaky bastard!”

Covering his face with his hand, Kiyoomi chuckled as Atsumu ambushed Osamu’s confession. If Kiyoomi had known that this one incident would spur on his downfall, he wouldn’t have laughed.

Really, he should have guessed that Osamu getting into a relationship before Atsumu would trigger his competitive streak. At first, Kiyoomi savored the increased alone time between him and Atsumu now that Osamu ditched them to go on dates with Suna. But to Kiyoomi’s disappointment, Atsumu spent a majority of that time mulling over his single status. 

And of course, the universe that had been lying in treacherous wait chose the day of Kiyoomi’s nightmares to strike: White Day.

The day before White Day, Atsumu was melted over the kitchen table, chubby cheek squished against the wood. One hand fiddled with one of the roses his grandma had set aside to use in that year’s bouquets. “Omi, how come I’m so attractive but still single? That should be a crime!”

“You say that as if you’re not the one who said, ‘I’m not interested in any of those hags anyway,’” Kiyoomi said, complete with mocking air quotes.

“Don’t remind me!” Atsumu moaned in distress.

“Well someone has to, especially when the only reason why you’re considering dating is because Osamu is,” Kiyoomi deadpanned.

“Omi, you don’t get it! I can’t let Samu beat me. I’m gonna get a lover and be super PDA and shove it in his face,” Atsumu said with a resolute fist pumped in the air. 

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, mostly as an excuse not to look Atsumu in the eye. He was right here, so why couldn’t Atsumu ask _him_ out? Did he really not have a chance?

That evening, he brought home his annual bouquet. In the dim glow of the moonlight, Kiyoomi scattered soft petals across his desk. _He loves me, he loves me not, loves me, loves me not, loves me. Loves me not._

Maybe with the next rose. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe with next year’s bouquet. Maybe in another lifetime. 

Feeling a sting in his palm, Kiyoomi looked down and was greeted by the sight of blood. It seemed that Atsumu’s grandma had missed a thorn.

With nobody else around to clean up his wound, Kiyoomi pulled out the thorn and bandaged up the wound. Amidst his restless slumber, he dreamt about holding Atsumu’s hand.

* * *

Kiyoomi spent the entire school day on edge, waiting with dread for Atsumu to make good on his promise to get a lover. There was a chance that Atsumu didn’t mean he’d pick and choose based on his many Valentine’s Day suitors, but Kiyoomi refused to let down his guard nevertheless. He only let himself breathe when the two of them were walking home together void of some stranger hanging off of Atsumu’s arm.

Oblivious to Kiyoomi’s woes, Atsumu whistled as he swung a single rose in one hand. “Oba-chan gave me too many! I still have an extra,” Atsumu chuckled. “Omi-Omi do you want it?”

Kiyoomi’s spirits brightened, then quickly dampered. To Atsumu, he was just an extra. “Hold onto it and give it to your oba-san.”

“But she’s already got plenty of roses. What does she need another one for?” 

Suddenly, one of the girls in their class walked past them.

“Hey, wait a sec!” Atsumu chased after her. Her face was painted with a startled flush as Atsumu pushed a rose into her face. “Here, take this! I had an extra. And prickly Omi over there didn’t want it,” Atsumu pouted. 

Kiyoomi clicked his tongue in irritation, not wanting any part in Atsumu’s shameless flirtations. 

The girl bowed her head and graciously took the rose. Kiyoomi spotted her smiling to herself as she walked away. He wondered if he looked like that whenever he and Atsumu parted ways.

At last, Atsumu caught up with Kiyoomi, their shoulders brushing together. Kiyoomi scowled, averting his gaze.

“Aww Omi-Omi, are you jealous?”

“As if. Who do you think you are, the Bachelor?” Kiyoomi sneered.

Atsumu smirked, “Look at me! I’m young and handsome and single. I say I’d make a very promising bachelor.”

Kiyoomi tried to not look at Atsumu’s sunflower hair and golden-brown eyes. “Nobody would want you after they find out how much of an asshole you are.”

“Well, I know just how much of an asshole you are and I’m still here!” Atsumu said, sending a firm pat on Kiyoomi’s back.

Flinching, Kiyoomi glanced down at Atsumu’s empty hand. _Not really._

* * *

If Kiyoomi thought that would be the last time he’d see their nameless classmate, he was wrong. It started off innocently enough with the girl waving at Atsumu in the hallway. This quickly transitioned to stopping by his desk to give Atsumu snacks or Atsumu approaching her to ask about notes. Still, Kiyoomi was caught off guard when Valentine’s Day rolled around their second year and Atsumu came skidding through the classroom door and towards where Kiyoomi sat alone at his desk.

“Omi-Omi!” Atsumu shouted, pressing his hands on Kiyoomi’s desk as he caught his breath.

Kiyoomi eyed the rose in his hand, then looked up to see a girl with a silly grin trailing after Atsumu. “What.”

“Tsu-chan and I are dating!”

Following the investigatory pattern of the five ws, Kiyoomi asked, “Who?”

The girl standing next to Atsumu flinched. “Come on, Omi-Omi. She’s our classmate! She’s the one I gave the extra rose to last White Day, remember?”

“Hi Sakusa-kun! You can call me Tsubaki,” The girl said with a small wave.

Not sparing her a glance, Kiyoomi struggled to keep his voice level as he said, “I didn’t realize you two had gotten so close.” 

“Well, we’ve been talking more ever since then and today she gave me a rose in return! I’ve never gotten one back before,” Atsumu said with a look of awe.

“Go show off to Osamu then, not me. Wasn’t that the whole point?” Kiyoomi rested his chin on his fist, pretending to go back to doing his homework. 

Atsumu snapped his fingers. “You’re right, Omi-Omi! Thanks for reminding me,” He said before grabbing Tsubaki’s hand and dragging her away to go find Osamu.

With Atsumu finally gone, Kiyoomi slammed his forehead against the desk and choked back a sob. 

* * *

Before Atsumu could shove his lovey-dovey bullshit in Kiyoomi’s face, Kiyoomi quickly put distance between the two of them, opting to hang out more with Osamu and Rintaro instead. Though they were pretty gross too, it was better than being forced to see Atsumu loving someone else. And, for better or worse, Osamu and Rintaro were already aware of Kiyoomi’s feelings for Atsumu.

“Tsumu’s an idiot. You can definitely find someone better than him,” Osamu said as played with Rintaro’s hair in his lap, the latter leisurely looking through his phone. 

“You think I don’t know that? If I got any say in this, Atsumu would be the last person I fall in love with. But here I am,” Kiyoomi sulked, sinking further into the couch. 

Osamu rolled his eyes. “God, I can’t watch the two of you guys act like this. Go help oba-chan in the garden or something.”

Though he wasn’t fond of being bossed around, it wasn’t like he had much else to do. It was worth it to see the fond grin lighting up the elderly woman’s face as he crouched down beside her. 

“Oh, Kiyoomi-kun! Are you here to help?” She said as she stood up and brushed dirt off her apron.

“If you don’t mind, oba-san,” Kiyoomi said, bowing his head. 

“Of course I don’t mind! Wait here, I’ll get you an apron,” She said before speeding off.

A few minutes later, she returned with a worn apron and a neon yellow hat with a wide brim. Kiyoomi thanked her and put them on, ready to help despite his lack of a green thumb. Luckily, Atsumu’s grandmother patiently instructed him with a demonstrative hand. Soon enough, Kiyoomi was able to assist with little to no floundering. He surprised himself with how much he enjoyed it. He still squirmed at all the dirt and bugs, but it was worth it to see the results of his hard work when the young rosebuds sprouted.

“If only Atsumu and Osamu liked helping out with the garden,” Their grandmother sighed. “When they were younger, they would always pull out the pretty flowers, but they never tried nurturing them.”

What the older Miya didn’t know was that Atsumu _had_ planted a rose bush the moment he picked off that red rose and gave it to Kiyoomi with bloody hands. He watered it with every carefree smile, every reassuring touch, every gleeful snicker, every bewitching gaze. 

But now Kiyoomi had cut himself off from Atsumu’s sunlight—because that was the truth wasn’t it? Kiyoomi was no sun. He was a wilting flower craving Atsumu’s cosmic warmth. Without it, Kiyoomi could only rot, bury his shedded petals in the soil and hope it would nourish a more successful harvest while Atsumu went on yet another date with his girlfriend. Not that Kiyoomi would know, considering the fact that they stopped hanging out as much ever since Atsumu started dating Tsubaki. 

“Let them be. If they were to try and help, they’d be too busy fighting to get anything done anyway,” Kiyoomi remarked as he flattened the dirt with the back of his shovel. 

Their grandmother chuckled, “Oh for sure, Kiyoomi-kun. But thanks to that, I get to spend more time with my favorite grandchild.”

Kiyoomi’s heart warmed from being at the receiving end of her affection. 

“But as much as I adore your company, I want you to be happy,” The elderly Miya said with a melancholic smile.

“I _am_ happy with you,” Kiyoomi frowned.

“You are too sweet,” She said, her pitying eyes piercing through him like thorns. 

* * *

Months passed with Kiyoomi’s days spent tending to the roses. Under his and the older Miya’s love and care, the roses reached full bloom in May of their third year of high school. Kiyoomi and the Miyas’ grandmother were working side-by-side to prepare bouquets for their neighbors when they heard Atsumu stumble through the front door. 

“Oba-chan, I’m home.” Though his voice was faint, Kiyoomi could tell that it lacked its usual shine.

Brushing a strand of hair out of her face with the back of her gloved hand, his grandma called, “Welcome home!”

Kiyoomi heard Atsumu’s muted footsteps grow louder until he finally appeared with his head hanging as he walked through the screen door. Heart beating in his ears, Kiyoomi kept his back turned and his face hidden by his neon gardening hat.

“Omi, is that you? What are you doing here?” Atsumu gaped.

“I’m helping you grandma with the roses,” He deadpanned, words sharpened by the menacing snip of his shears. “You should help your grandma out more often.”

Atsumu’s grandma’s face lit up. “Great idea, Kiyoomi! The two of you can help out here while I start making dinner.” She took off her apron and slipped it through Atsumu’s head before he could say another word.

If Kiyoomi didn’t respect Atsumu’s grandmother so much, he would have screamed at her. He wished he could cut the tense silence with his gardening shears, but since he couldn’t, he decided to keep his mouth shut and his hands busy snipping off roses. He ignored Atsumu’s uneasy glances at him as the blonde fumbled with his grandma’s spare shears, slicing the air noisily without accomplishing anything productive. 

Kiyoomi broke first. “Spit it out. What’s wrong,” Kiyoomi stated, disguising his worry with irritation.

Atsumu’s eyes flicked away. “Don’t feel like talking ‘bout it,” He mumbled. 

Rolling his eyes, Kiyoomi waited expectantly for Atsumu to continue. The bigmouthed idiot was never one to keep secrets.

Clenching his shears in a choking grip, Atsumu said, “It’s...it’s my girlfriend. Well, not anymore. She broke up with me.”

Kiyoomi wanted to give a snarky response, but he held back when he saw Atsumu’s forlorn frown.

“She said I never seemed that interested in her. That I kept talking about other things instead of paying attention to her.”

His eyes softening, Kiyoomi reached for Atsumu’s wrist, rubbing a soothing thumb over it until his hold loosened.

Atsumu let out a heavy sigh. “It hurts a little bit, but not as much as I thought it would. I think she’s right. Kiyoomi, I…” Atsumu looked up at him, sunset dying his eyes golden. “She said I couldn’t stop talking about you. And that’s true, but not just that. I can’t stop thinking about you either.” He groaned, shaking the shears in his fist. “Omi-Omi, do you get what I’m saying? I just broke up with my girlfriend, my first girlfriend _ever_ , but all I can think about is how adorable you look in oba-chan’s stupid gardening hat!”

Kiyoomi’s reddened face rivaled Osamu during his confession to Rin. Looking closely at Atsumu, he noticed Atsumu’s burned a similar shade. Biting his lip, Kiyoomi brushed the dirt off his apron to hide his flustered expression. “Go on.”

“Are you gonna make me say it?! Oh god,” Atsumu moaned, dirt-soiled hands covering his face. Suddenly, he slapped his own cheeks, his face firm with resolve. Shears in hand, Atsumu trimmed a red rose from the bush in front of them. Extending his hand towards Kiyoomi, he cleared his throat and said, “Omi, I like you. Will you be my boyfriend?”

Dopey grin stretched on his face, Kiyoomi took the rose and hugged it to his chest. This time, he didn’t have to count the petals. He reached for Atsumu’s hand and squeezed it. “Of course.”

Kiyoomi could barely catch Atsumu’s triumphant squeal before he was pulled into a searing kiss. He would have kept Atsumu’s lips pressed against his if not for the sound of an exasperated murmur.

“Fucking finally!” Osamu yelled. 

Sure enough, they looked up to see Osamu and Rin peeking through the screen door. Rin was holding up his phone, surely recording the whole ordeal.

Atsumu flipped them off. “Shut up, Samu!”

Kiyoomi simply laughed, disregarding their dirty aprons as he pulled Atsumu into a tight embrace.

* * *

When Valentine’s Day arrived, Atsumu rejected every single chocolate, barely giving any hopeful girl a chance to speak. Instead, he brought to school a single rose bud. During their lunch break, Atsumu whipped the rose out of his bag and presented it to a giggling Kiyoomi. Perched on Kiyoomi’s lap, he pulled out a handful of bobby pins from his pocket and nestled the rose in Kiyoomi’s curly hair. 

“Tsumu, how many petals are there?” Kiyoomi mumbled into Atsumu’s neck, pulling him closer into his lap.

“Umm, give me a sec.” Atsumu’s nose scrunched as he counted the petals under his breath. “Seventeen! Wait. Yes, seventeen! Why’d you ask?”

Kiyoomi looped his arms around Atsumu’s neck, pressing their foreheads together. “He loves me.”

Atsumu’s head tipped to the side, invisible tail wagging behind him. “Who, me? Of course I love you, Omi-Omi!”

Kiyoomi played with the stubby hairs on the back of Atsumu’s neck as Atsumu’s cheek nuzzled against his. “Mmm, and I love you too, Tsumu.”


End file.
